The Calradian Folly
by Dagger300
Summary: The land of Calradia is an unkind place. The continent is said to be characterized by constant war, ambitious nobles, and... petty arguments? Interpersonal drama? The struggles of those who have it all?... In any case, this is the story of that accursed realm, and its foolish inhabitants.
1. Chapter 1: The Scouting Party

This is my first story that I've published here. As I get used to formatting things, it will look nicer. Maybe.

My writing will also hopefully get better as this story goes on.

**This story will be a mix of serious and.. not serious. Nothing extremely serious, mind you, but there will be violence and death. In case of anything extra heavy, I will add an additional warning at the top of the chapter.**

Thank you for taking the time to read my story! :)

* * *

"Harlaus, sir! There have been sightings of Nord scouts out by Elberl!" An armored, short, stubby soldier reported.

Harlaus, quite lazily, repositioned himself to sit upright. With a yawn, he looked over the soldier.

"That's KING Harlaus to you… are there no lords to protect it? How did they even get this deep, anyhow?" mumbled Harlaus drowsily.

"They are, ah… spread thin around our realm, sir. I can send a messenger, if that would please his high-"

Harlaus dismissed the notion with a wave. "Nonsense. I'll handle it myself."

Slowly, Harlaus rose to stand. The soldier performed the most deep salute in his arsenal, then took his leave. Harlaus looked to the scabbard tied to his waist and the hilt on top of it. "You will have blood today, Quincy." He let out a soft chuckle. "Though it may be too crude to enjoy."

* * *

The small Nordic scout force stood just outside the village, presumably scouting. One soldier stood out from the rest, wearing a deep crimson scarf around his neck and a brownish-gold crown upon his short white hair. He turned to the force and spoke up.

"Okay, boys, keep in mind that we're only here to scout, so… don't do anything stupid." He took a moment to adjust his crown. "We're scouting this village's resources to see if taking the surrounding territory would be worth it… it would take something pretty rare and sparse to fight this deep within enemy territory, so be sure to look for Ragnar's generosity."

"No raiding? Did I hear that right, Ourus, sir?" Ourus looked to the soldier.

"...yeah. We don't need to attract attention to ourselves and have to fight in, I repeat, enemy territory. The denars we get paid will be enough to satisfy even Gold-Diggin' Vadskr." Ourus made a gesture towards an enormous gold-plated man, head concealed by more opulence. The man waved in return.

Ourus looked around the area. The village was entirely average. Nothing remarkable whatsoever. Slightly hilly, lightly forested, small size, armored knights staring them down…

Ourus froze. Armored knights? Staring, too? There weren't that many of them, but they could still easily take down the scouting force.

"Vadskr, take the archers and whoever and camp them on that hill." He pointed to the large hill to the force's left. "I will take charge with the infantry. God, why does there always have to be a problem…"

As Vadskr lead the ranged unit to the hill, Ourus lead the melee unit to the knights. The knight in front sported a grand winged helmet, and he tensed up as the unit approached.

"Hello, sirs. To whom am I making my acquaintance?" Ourus performed a light bow, and peered into the dark opening in the helmet.

"None other than the King of Swadia." Harlaus laid a hand on his sword's hilt. "And who might these men be, who trespass on Swadian land?"

"My apologies, sir. We are but a scouting party sent by King Ragnar to survey the area. We mean no-" Ourus was interrupted by the unsheathing of Harlaus's sword. "-harm, but it seems you do. Right, well, I tried to resolve this peacefully, but if I must…"

Ourus reached into his quiver and pulled out an arrow. Simple and wooden, unremarkable. "This is an arrow. I have plenty of men who use these for killing. Currently, they are…" Ourus motioned toward the hill. "... aiming at you and your men, ready to strike of anything happens. You all are also wearing heavy armor, which means-"

Ourus took one step backward. Then another. Soon, he was running full speed away from the Swadians. "-you won't be able to catch up to me! Ta!" The entire melee unit followed suit while the ranged unit fired volley after volley into the knights.

Harlaus waved his arms in agitation. "Ourus, you swine!" Unsheathing the sword Quincy from its leathery home, he yelled, "Knights, charge!", voice cracking.

One of the knights tapped Harlaus on the shoulder. "Your highness, we have an… an issue." He gestured to the village stables. Below the opened ceiling were the knights' esteemed horses, now with a few extra accessories. "The horses have, ah… been made into pincushions, your highness."

Harlaus, gripping Quincy tightly, took a step forward, towards the fleeing mercenaries. "_I do not care_." The sound of the mercenaries' hastened footsteps filled the air, and arrows continued to rain down upon the knights.

"I believe I gave an order." Harlaus placed both hands on the knight and shook him silly. "I BELIEVE I ORDERED YOU TO CHARGE!"

Harlaus's knights looked to each other, then raised their fists high in the air with a grunt of affirmation.

Harlaus knew that they wouldn't catch the mercenaries. They were evidently well trained in guerilla tactics; his knights were simply not trained for that kind of combat.

Though, his knights _did_ have a certain affinity for pincer attacks. Harlaus laughed as he calmly marched forward, his knights leaving him in the dust. Outside the village, a larger force was en route to the mercenaries, who were unwittingly marching into their craziest battle yet.


	2. Chapter 2: Mercenary vs Knight

Sorry for not updating in a while, and sorry for the short first chapter. We won't be following Ourus's mercenaries for much longer... there's a lot of interesting people in Calradia.  
If you have any criticisms, thoughts, or anything, feel free to share! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

Ourus couldn't see past the infantry a few feet ahead of him, their lightly-armored figures remaining tightly together, even as they fled from the slowly advancing knights. He could, however, tell that something very, _very _wrong. The men suddenly stopped abruptly in their tracks, and a few of them were shaking. Ourus scratched his head as he jogged to the front of the formation.

His brow furrowed. More knights. Only knights.

"Harlaus sure does love his knights, doesn't he?" Ourus sighed and tightened his scarf, ensuring that it wouldn't fall off.

He turned to the soldiers and looked to each of them that he could see. They were smart, smarter than any of Swadia's knights. Smart where it mattered, anyway. These men had never been given the privilege of education, for the most part. But they learned, under Ourus's leadership, to survive, to thrive, to fight.

That isn't to say the enemies _didn't_ learn to fight. Of course they did. They were _knights_. Ourus, however, liked to think his methods were better, prioritizing craftiness and unpredictability over uniform tactics, which almost always ensured that casualties were far and few between as long as battles were picked carefully.

Ourus once again tightened his scarf, this time out of anxiety. Being on the receiving end of a pincer attack was less than ideal. Ourus's men were growing antsy and concerned as their commander stared off into space muttering to himself while two sizeable forces were marching towards them.

Ourus, without speaking, walked down the middle of the formation, forcing his men to hastily clear a path for him. The soldiers were now cleanly divided in half.

His voice firm and confident, he spoke. "Men, we're at a disadvantage. Mounted knights approaching from the north, and knights getting their much needed exercise approaching from the south." Ourus walked along the troops' center and turned to the soldiers on the right, giving them a wicked smile. "We're going to split them up by splitting ourselves up. You all on this side are going to run east.." Ourus turned to the left side. "You all will head west."

Ourus paced back to the front and looked out to his men. "On foot, these knights stand little chance against us. Your biggest priority will be to disable their horses however you like." A hand shot up from within the right squad. Ourus's eyes snapped onto the scar etched onto its palm, instantly recognizing its owner. "Yes, Devick?".

The crowd cleared for Devick to show himself. His eyes shifted from soldier to soldier as they spread apart, and he nervously adjusted his long, black hair. "So… we don't have to kill them?" Devick looked innocently into his commander's eyes. "Can we… you know…?"

Ourus looked over his shoulder at the oncoming knights. "Not necessarily, but I expect you to do what's necessary for our survival. If that involves killing an animal of war-"

"With all due respect, sir-" Devick's eyes narrowed. "-the only 'animals of war' are the oafs sitting atop those innocent creatures. We shouldn't-"

Ourus waved his hand. "We'll mince words all you like _after _the battle. Don't put a mount's life above yours." Devick silently looked at the ground, purposefully avoiding Ourus's gaze. Ourus sighed. "You have your assignments. Let's go, men!"

.

.

.

Bees buzzed happily over the flora as Harlaus calmly marched on a ways behind his knights, humming an old tune. Victory was assured for his army, even without applying advanced tactics; Their opponents were just common mercenaries. Harlaus scratched at his chin. Their captain, however, was different. Harlaus could tell as soon as the man opened his mouth that he was something special.

Harlaus quickened his pace, thinking to catch up to his knights. Being "special" wasn't always a good thing, however. "His type has no respect for the throne. No respect for _my _throne." Harlaus mumbled to himself. The more he thought of that mercenary captain, the angrier he became. Harlaus started to jog. That scoundrel's band, easily crushed or not, deserved more than a slaughtering. It deserved to be completely wiped out. Its leader deserved endless nights in the dungeon! Harlaus was in a full sprint, now. He had to ensure that no man escaped, that no man lived, and that the detestable Ourus was captured.

.

.

.

_Slash_.

A red gash opened across the knight's face, then another, then another. The nordic mercenary behind the sword swung the mighty blade of steel again and again and again until the knight collapsed, then plunged it into his chest, just to be safe. Just then, another knight sped past on horseback, sending dirt flying onto the mercenary's face, leaving some smaller bits sticking to it. The knight disappeared over a nearby hill.

"Gah. At least it wasn't anything foul." The mercenary took a gloved hand and flicked the remaining dirt off of his face. "These knights are a nuisance, they are." He looked around and saw no trace of the horse that sped by, and so he took a moment to assess the situation on the field, and recall what had happened.

He was running with the right squad, with his brothers-in-arms. Around half of either Swadian force was diverted to his side, so the plan concocted by the commander had worked. As they ran, they were preparing their weapons and tools, as well as their wits. Everything went well at first; horses falling left and right, darts stuck in their necks; knights pathetically plummeting to the hard soil; mercenaries avoiding strike after strike…

Then, bright flashes of light erupted from small, cylindrical objects thrown by the Swadians. The mercenary was blinded, and his eyes throbbed in pain. He picked a direction and fled. The troop was split up.

The mercenary ripped his greatsword out from the knight's guts, causing blood to steadily flow from the wound. He scratched his head of messy brown hair and put his full attention towards the hill a few yards in front of him.

To his surprise, a Swadian knight was _not _what reappeared at the top of the hill. The thinly armored figure standing there noticed the mercenary and raised his left hand. An ally. The figure had a bounce in his step as he began to approach.

The mercenary took a more qualitative look at the figure as he approached. He was positively bald, save the horned helmet atop his shiny head. With eyebrows as thick as his mustache, he was certainly an imposing figure. It also helped that he was built like a fortress. He was certainly Dovis. His attention then turned to Dovis's hands. His left was still raised in the air, now gently waving. His right hand was carrying something. Something large. A liquid was dripping from it.

The mercenary's eyes widened in realization and grimaced. "Devick's going to pummel you for this one."

Dovis, wearing a neutral expression, quickly responded. "It was kickin' at me. Shouldn't have been kickin' at me." He dropped it, and it hit the ground with an unceremonious _thud_. "Didn't realize I was still carrying it… anyway, Devick avoids _eye-contact_ with me. He wouldn't consider approaching me for any reason, even for my egregious violence."

"Everyone avoids eye-contact with you."

"Exactly, Evvan. Exactly. He's no different from the rest." Dovis thought for a moment while he wiped his blood-stained hand on his leather chestplate. "..no, nevermind. His nervousness sets him apart from the crowd. Guy's a wreck."

Evvan crossed his arms. "Wreck or not, he has his breaking point. I fear for the safety of whoever causes him to reach it."

Dovis shrugged and began walking in a direction. Annoyed at Dovis's disregard for his potentially life-saving advice, Evvan trudged along behind him, and began to mentally prepare himself for the fights ahead.

.

.

.

The battle had been going on for just half an hour, but it was clear it was already decided. Not a _single _mercenary's corpse touched the battlefield, because there weren't any. Swadian bodies, however, littered it, spilled out over it.

Harlaus knew this was a battle he could not win without losing most of his knights. As he examined the path of carnage laid out before him and his unmounted entourage, it became apparent that he had _already_ lost most of his knights. Dozens of horses lay on the ground, unconscious or dead; the same amount of men lay near their steeds, but none were spared. Harlaus wanted to spare the rest of his men from that fate. He scratched his elegantly waxed mustache as he went through all possible scenarios in his head; those he could think of, at least.

"My lord… what shall we do? These ruffians are far more than we gave them credit for." The knight turned to his king, his panic growing, while the king continued to attempt to think. "We should never have let down our defenses…!"

Harlaus grabbed the man by his shoulders and shook him silly while yelling in his face, no longer able to hold his frustration in. "What shall we do? What shall _we do_?! We…!" Harlaus paused, staring with passionate into the knight's eyes."..We FIGHT until the end! NO! QUARTER!"

Harlaus powerfully jerked Quincy from its sheath and gave his greatest battle cry: "SWADIA SHALL PREVAIL!"

Abruptly from the south, a volley of arrows mercilessly beared down on the entourage of knights, piercing and ripping their armor apart; sinking and tearing into every knight's skin, as if to say, "Unfortunately, Swadia shall _not_ prevail." The screams of terrifying surprise were halted when the last arrow struck its victim. Harlaus's eyes widened and he instinctively made a break for it, knowing how pointless it was but refusing to surrender. A single well-shot arrow to the ankle dashed any hopes he had of fleeing, and he pathetically crashed into the ground headfirst.

Harlaus turned his body over and held his ankle, taking sharp breaths. He grabbed onto the arrow's shaft and was about to pull, but-

"Gotta love the ranged unit, right?" A figure stood a few feet away from Harlaus, and its attitude changed after it noticed Harlaus's struggling. "Come on, don't make this harder than it has to be..." The familiar voice filled Harlaus with great anger. He looked up and found the accursed captain calmly walking towards him. He wore a stern frown, his brow furrowed. "I don't take pride in the slaughter of men, but you put me us in this position."

Ourus fiddled with the small, sharp thing in his hand. "This will hurt for a second. Don't squirm or I'll have to do it again." Without another word, Ourus plunged the dart into Harlaus's chest. With a soft groan of pain, the king was completely knocked out. Out of his mouth came drool, seeping down his stubby chin. It was fleeing his body, following his pride's example.

Ourus pulled the thing out and tossed it aside. A small crew of _large _men approached and looked at Ourus for approval. With a nod, Ourus walked away and went off to gather his mercenaries. Their next step would be to collect their payment from the Nordic King, though Ourus was more fixated on the Swadian King's ransom...


End file.
